Pictures
by Cryana
Summary: Sometimes, pictures tell stories that words simply can't describe.


**Pictures**

 _Sometimes, pictures tell stories that words simply can't describe._

 _(Inspired by Cauterize, by Lady Altair)_

* * *

He's young and energetic, and she couldn't possibly refuse. It's a project, he explains, still grinning, and Hermione was all for getting grades. She drags Ron, and both of them sit properly at the littered set. They smile, and a flash goes off.

"Thanks for the help, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley!"

"No problem, Mr. Jordan!"

They look inquiring after he leaves. "Lee Jordan's son, if I'm correct." Hermione nods. "Don't be daft, Ron."

The photographer looks at the pictures minutes later. The photo was not in black and white, but it was still looked grey and daunting. It was hollow, and the figures in them even more. If you stared hard enough, you can see the darkness in their eyes, despite the smile on their face. \

There were scars that barely anyone would notice, but the lighting only seems to enhance them. A thin, white line that drew across Hermione's neck, and Ron's face seemed to radiate pain.

 _It might be years after a nightmare,_ he thinks, _but memories can last forever._

* * *

Neville Longbottom was next.

He had smiled, and gently shook his head no. A few weeks later, Aledin, supposedly named after Albus Dumbledore, Fred Weasley, and Colin Creevey, found a package on his doorstep. It was delicately wrapped in a cardboard box, with twine and string.

There was a note inside. _If you're looking for scars, the deadliest battle isn't action, it's your mind._

He looked again in the box. There were 2 photographs. The first one was of toddler Neville, and his parents, in front of a well kept manor. The picture was full, of both color and light. His heart gave a painful tug.

Neville's parents had been tortured into insanity.

The other picture was of Neville, a supposedly 15 years later, and an old woman, his grandmother, in front of the same manor. It was dark and haunting, despite the similar surroundings.

He shuddered.

 _It was a before and after._ He immediately mused.

Sometimes, the past might be better than the future.

* * *

He sought out 3 of the Weasley brothers. William (or technically Bill), had agreed, and with some persuading, so did Percy and George.

Bill was first.

His was an unknown story, one that most don't know. _A wizard with werewolf tendencies,_ he had heard.

His face was littered with scars, and he set his lips in a tight line for the picture. Looking at the picture, Aledin noticed a gleam of yellow in his eyes. A feral one, but one filled with fear and terror. Terror at what he was.

 _Would they think I'm a monster?_ His eyes asked. _Would they ever accept me?_

Photography was Aledin's specialty. Top of his class, and an abnormal sense of emotion in a picture.

They didn't realize everyone could do that, if they focused on anything else except the visuals.

Percy went and sat down on the wooden chair. The background was just a grey drop.

Despite Bill being older, age seemed to have caught up with Percy more than his brother. He smiled, and a familiar flash occurred. His hair had a tinge of silver, despite there still being a prominent red color.

The picture had a shadow of Percy. Dark, and looming, it seemed to hover over him, expressing his past regrets and mistakes.

His eyes were empty, and there were dark circles under them, as if he did not sleep for several days. Jordan sympathized with the picture. _He had forgave everyone except himself._

George went up.

He sat on the chair, and smiled gently at the camera. His ear, gone, but also something else.

"It's too empty." His mother had noted, and Aledin bit his lip. _It's supposed to be that way._ He angrily thought. _But of course you wouldn't understand._

His father had relayed him of the details of the Battle of Hogwarts. But when he had showed him the pictures, he shrugged. "Why are they all so, spacey and dark? I thought pictures were supposed to capture happy memories?"

He simply nodded and left the room. _Pictures are meant to capture emotions._ But his former teacher had huffed, and said, "Pictures, are for memories."

* * *

He decided to write to Dennis Creevey, an acquaintance who had introduced him to the art of photography.

 _Do you have any pictures of Hogwarts?_ The letter had asked. They often relied on messages that were never verbally expressed or written down. _One of the perks of a fellow photographer._ Aledin smirked.

A package came a few days later. There were several printed pictures, taken perhaps 18 years ago. The first two were of the castle itself, one of the front, and one of the back. There was a date scribbled on the back. 1995, it read. It was before the battle.

The castle was grand, albeit a bit lacking of color. It was well over 50 feet, with many towers.

The next one was a picture of a forest. It loomed dark and hauntingly, and all traces of light seemed to disappear in its path. There wasn't a date inscripted, but it didn't matter.

The last one was of ruins. There were bricks and stone and rubble everywhere, and dust seemed to float in the air. It was of a small courtyard, but you could see the castle's tallest towers. He chose that one out of the others, and put it with his collection.

* * *

Luna Lovegood. His father had known her, and offered to help him on his project. They managed to schedule a meeting.

She arrived on a hill, where photo would be taken. Without noticing that the picture was about to be taken, she picked up a dandelion, and watched as the breeze carried the petals away.

 _Flash._

She noticed, and loftily apologized. "Sorry, I got distracted." But Aledin waved her off. It's fine, he had replied. It was still perfect.

In the photo, she was daintily watching the dandelion. But it just seemed all too surreal. The perfect timing, snow white dress, and her blonde hair made it seem angelic. Yet if you stared at it long enough, the more flaws there were, but that made it all the better.

* * *

 _Last picture_ , he thought. It was technically the easiest, but still meaningful. He went to Godric's Hollow. He had expected it to be bustling with people, but it was desolate. It was quick, but he couldn't shake the cold off. It was silent and creepy, almost as ghosts were there.

Aledin noticed the graveyard.

He got back as soon as possible.

9 pictures. Each that explained something in their own way. He'd rather focus on something skimmed over, than be focused on something covered a thousand times, like the famous Boy-Who-Lived. There wasn't anything wrong, but a mystery was better than a story told thousands of time.

His project was featured in the news. It was heart wrenching, when someone got the idea of a picture. It was displayed on a museum. The other part of the Golden Trio. Neville's before and after. Bill's horrification. Percy's regrets. George's missing half. A ruined castle. Luna's naturality. A haunted town.

Of course, no one that wasn't magical found out who the places or people were. And that's what made the significance. On the other side, the wizarding world, the places and people were recognizable.

They wouldn't be forgotten easily. The pictures expressed pain and sorrow, regrets and grief, horrors of the side of the war we never hear about. They became a symbol of the past.

And perhaps, after many decades, when wounds have almost disappeared, someone might say, _Why the past? Let's start on the future._

* * *

 **A/N ~ First story so it's pretty bad. But thanks for reading, and have a wonderful day!**


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